I suppose it's because it's been such a long time since I wasn't with somebody on Thanksgiving. I didn't think it would affect me, but I was not entirely accurate in that estimation.
First of all, many great thanks to ez2beve for inviting me down for Thanksgiving. It was wonderful to have a place to belong, and getting to share with windelina and the Monte was much nice, and having whopping dog-time was a happy thing as well.
Verily we did eat turkey and stuffing and pie and cornbread and cheese and crackers and dumplings and other yummy food, and verily we did watch movies (Ju-On and the Chronicles of Riddick), and sleep the sleep of the tryptophan-induced. And today we braved the elements to go and see National Treasure (which turned out to be a lot more fun than I was expecting). And I got a few minutes to hang out with Bryan and give him his early Christmas present (a set of Craftsman tools, which he badly needs).
Windelina and Monte are cute together. And unfortunately, I ended up being affected by the cuteness, which is entirely my own issue. I found little pangs of something like a cross between envy and homesickness, which I was really NOT expecting, and for which I was completely unprepared.
I decided to come back to DM tonight. I have some things that I really want to do, and having the weekend will let me be a little more relaxed about them. But since I got back earlier than I had originally thought I would, I decided to head out to another strip club. In a fit of serendipity, both Bryan mentioning the idea and hearing an ad for a new place that opened not too far away from the apartment made the decision for me.
Pandora's Box. As it turned out, an apt name.
I probably shouldn't have gone.
The utter falseness of the whole situation fought me the whole way, and made any eroticity evaporate like piss on a sauna heater. It just wasn't fun. Well, I take that back-- I did get a really nice lap dance from a dancer who understood my desire to be more sensual and touching than the usual, and did a lot of neck-kissing things-- but it is smackdown-hard that I am not in the mood for the illusion of affection. Super fly-fishing fucktards, I wish I was, because I can get that.
(Yeah. I can just see motel666 laughing her ass off at my misery.)
So now I am in something of an organic quandry. What I desire, I don't want. Or I can't have. Or vice-versa. Or something else-- I'm all cornfused. I don't want to admit weakness, and I think that I have to in order to make this right with myself.
But not tonight. Tonight I go to bed smelling sweetly of strippers and stale cigarette smoke and pool table felt. It's a melange that hits my hindbrain like a sack of wet kittens, and brings my conscious mind to my knees.
I will deal with it tomorrow. Tonight I will dream what I need to dream, and see what shakes out in the morning.
In good news, I found my pants.